Victor XXVII
by Sir Geroff of the Wind
Summary: Two simultaneous stories of an Imperial Guard Infantryman, and a Imperial Naval Captain.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Long Time No See**

"Strike them at the center, and they will crumble. Strike them at the outside, and they will strengthen," echoed the words, of the Grand Commissar, spoken over 200 years ago.

Private Barsola Frieend, looked overhead at the bright, blue sky. The reflection of the sun's far-reaching rays, reflected off his magnolia-colored eyes. To Barsola the world seemed boring, especially, when supposedly motivational speeches, like the first grand commissar's were repeated futilely. But then again so was everyone else, it seemed as if on Victor XXVII, you could never find action.

Barsola turned his head, in a 45-degree turn, gazing at the rusted lemon russ, that sat in front of him. In some way, some part of his mind, he felt remorse, for seeing the salvaging of this truly ravaged battle tank. He knew that if the Adeptus Mechanicus, really had some sort of machine god, and something like machine spirits, then this creation, really had it's being torn apart. Barsola, walked away, from the once-magnificent weapon, in his gray battle fatigues, the trademark uniform of the, Victor 451st Recon regiment. His eye's continued their usual bored stare at the luminous sky, and it's lazy, yellow sun. Some day he wished he could travel off this boring but peaceful planet, and seek adventure, on a real world; actual fighting maybe even. But for now he'd have to stay with this. His young eyes, then turned on the seemingly minuscule sun that hovered so frequently around the planet. Only 2 years ago he had been in school; studying a subject, science - as they used to call it when, ancient Terra was still young - but now just another sub-topic in the category of Xeno. If he was right Victor XXVII's sun was just in it's middle age, that would mean a good life for the planet, a long prosperous one probably with it's lack of adventure, and a long life for him too.

"You know, you shouldn't be staring at the sun like that!" Exclaimed a happy, but familiar voice, as a hand, grasped Barsola's shoulder, tightly.

Surprised, Barsola, fell, but was caught by the ambusher, easily as if a child.

"Saved ya' there." Spoke the voice once again.

Barsola turned to the hearty voice, and saw a figure, in the same gray type fatigues, wearing an all-to-happy grin.

"Nicholai Fitickus. Long time no see!" Exclaimed, an overly happy Barsola, while grasping the broad-shouldered man's hand.

"And you too. By the way, you know you could go blind from looking at that sun too much. Or did you already forget school, as it seems you already forgot how to shave." Answered Nicholai more happy than ever.

With that last remark Barsola, forgot, that with his day-dreaming continuously, he had forgotten to shave, the ridiculous half-beard, that covered his pale face. Noticing the recent discovery, Nicholai switched subjects.

"Well how's it been on a backwater, no-adventure, lackluster, thrill-starved planet like Victor XXVII?"Nicholai, acted like he savored every word, that came, from his liquor, smelling mouth.

"..." Victor didn't answer, still thinking about his unshaved beard.

"Eh?" continued Nicholai when his friend, didn't answer.

Barsola looked embarrassed that he had not answered Nicholai's question, and, quickly answered hurriedly, as if coming out of a trance.

"Same as usual."

"Eh, thought so." Answered Nicholai, to Barsola's response, in the same quickness.

"Well anyway..."The subject changed.

* * *

Commissar Brengar looked across the dark, nothingness void, that surrounded, him, and his flagship. He pondered for awhile from the bridge, continuing to stare and the vast, atmosphere around his ship, called space.Then he turned his usually frowning face, at the bright aurora, that surrounded Victor XXVII, oh that great peaceful, planet he knew as home, and headquarters, he always, wished he could live on it's brilliant surface again, but, duty always came first. He wondered if it really was 3 years, he'd been on this carrier, the, _Bartholomew's Hand_, because every moment seemed the same to him, after all his life was a boring one. Today he knew would probably the same as any the previous, or the first, drifting, and scouting, and guarding, those three damnable things, that just increased the boringness. His mind began to ponder a new subject; he didn't understand how anyone could continue to say life was so sweet, when you were always bored to hell, on Victor XXVII.

He turned his head again to the serf that sat, controlling the console, to his left. He studied the man for a moment, his forest, green shirt, definitely showed his rank, but not how he felt. It was a weird thing to be thinking about, but then, when the commissar was bored, so was his mind.

Noticing the commissar's awkward glance at him, ensign Mik looked up, kind of expecting a harsh reprimanding for some unknown protocol, he wouldn't know he had broken.

"Yes, commissar Brengar, is there something I can do for you, sir?" Asked the ensign.

Surprised that the ensign had noticed his ever-thinking stare, the commissar answered quickly, with an all-to-fake excuse.

"Well ensign, I was looking at the readout's passed your shoulder. Am I not allowed to do that?" Commanded Brengar in a mocking way.

"Of course you're allowed sir, I-I just thought you might have a question, sir."

"Well if that's so, I'd like to know have you received, any signatures, or signals, coming in the surrounding perimeter."

Literally the ensign's jaw dropped, how could such a man ask the same question day after day, when he a native, of this lonely system, knew nothing ever happened here anymore, well actually not ever. Quickly ensign Mik resumed his duty, and spoke the answer automatically, like a newly-built automaton.

"None whatsoever sir."

The ensign was tempted to shout at the old man.He shouldn't ask such obvious questions, but changed his thoughts to the thoughts of a not likely court martial, but a more likely demotion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Disappearance of an Old Crate Full of Ingrates**

"Brrrrrr– Boooooom!"

The _Bartholomew's Hand_, racked with explosions, as it's once smooth hull, began to transform into debris.

"What the hell is going on?"

Yelled a very startled commissar, just awakened from an evening nap.

But nothing answered him, there was nothing there anyway, besides his lone self's, echo. Hurriedly the commissar rushed to dress his half-awake self, brusquely pulling on his great fur coat.

"Erghh." He grunted, as he pulled on his puffy, tough linen pants.

After a few minutes of dressing, he quickly ran through the ship to the bridge, arriving in time to find 3 of the 5 consoles either sparking, or set a fire to, by massive amounts of damage. Surprised, and bewildered, he looked around, fearfully, half expecting the bridge roof to fall on him. Suddenly he felt a hand grab his leg, and jumped, with enormous fright. His gaze faltered to the floor, as if expecting an enormous claw, that only chaos power could create.

"Thew." He sighed relieved, a familiar face stared up at him, ensign Mik.

"BOOSH!" Another explosion rocked the ship.

The commissar struggled to hold on to something. At the same moment he shouted a question in the midst, of yet another explosion, on the south side of the valiant carrier.

"What's happened ensign? Do you know!" And yet again at that same time too, in his mind he hoped that the ensign was still alive, or at least, not unconscious.

"Urgh." Moaned the ensign's seemingly lifeless figure, that lay doubled-up on the floor.

"Uhh... I checked about 2 minutes ago, before you came in, before the last explosion, it seems that an imperial cruiser signature, popped up. It hit us so hard, it killed both ensign Matthews, and ensign Khir, immediately. While Colonel Hellingo is over there," he said pointing, "Wounded, probably from a head concussion, against one of the consoles."

"Oh." Commissar Brengar looked down, his face seemed showing an attitude close to downtrodden.

He quickly turned up again, just realizing something, in a renewed wonder.

"The signature, was an Imperial Cruiser? Are you kidding me?" Shouted the bewildered man.

"Sir, it was, I can guarantee it. If you look at the signature, it's clearly the right size, and is giving off the right amount of plasma, from it's boosters."

"Shit." Whispered the commissar, almost immediately signifying his stunned disbelief.

"I can't believe we've been attacked by our own, this is impossible." The ensign listened intently, to the commissar as he spoke his thoughts out loud, unknowingly.

"BEEP!BEEP!BEEP!" Another loud noise echoed in the control room, but this time it wasn't an explosion.

"What the hell is that?" shouted a surprised commissar.

Hurriedly the ensign scuttled to check the console nearest to him.

"Sir, another five las shots are headed toward us, in10 seconds!" Shouted ensign Mik in response.

"Send out a vox signal, for help!"

"But the ship will collapse under those shots anyway!"

"Just do it!" Yelled commissar Brengar at the top of his lungs, and the same time slamming his tired fist, into the console next to him.

"Countdown begun, 9..."

"8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1..."

* * *

"BLIMP! BLIMP! BLIMP! BEEEEEP! BIP! BIP! BIP!"

The vox communicator in front of Imperial Guardsman Rieger, blinked, repeatedly, waking him, up from an illustrious dream.

His captain, officer 1st class private Timothy, also just waking up, quickly tried to reprimand his subordinate, by quickly slapping his hand against the man's temple.

"Wake up, you snot-weaseled Burifaur." Shouted the man also just in case the slap did not work.

Half-asleep Private Rieger, looked boredly at the vox communicator, his eyes dazedly staring at the screen interface. His eye lids suddenly rose in astonishment, something was definitely wrong above the atmosphere, of Victor XXVII.

"Sir, we're receiving lascannon signatures continuously above. About 20 kilometers from the nearest mining station." Uttered the guardsman.

"Which mining station, private?" Questioned captain Timothy.

"It appears to be station 0045284, by database info."

"That's where the _Bartholomew's Hand_, is stationed, shit." murmured the captain, briskly to himself.

"Open up an interface channel on the vox with commander Birk, now."

"Yes sir"

"Shhhhhhh," hissed the screen interface, as private Reiger typed in the channel coordinates.

"Yes, sector 5 what is it?" Questioned a new voice.

"This is captain Timothy, we have news that there has been explosions in the same area as mining station 0045284." Responded the captain.

"What importance is this to me? An explosion near a mining station, any mining station, could easily be a transport, or freighter collision, like the one 2 months ago. After all they happen all the time, even in the territory of this planet."

"I assure you this is of the greatest priority. The plasma signatures on those explosions, were pinpointed at the same spot as Commissar Brengar's recon division."

"So. It could easily be that his gunners, are having some fun, shooting at the debris, or maybe a minor leak, happened on board one of the transports, causing insignificant explosions. Even minor ruptures maybe, nothing important of course."

"Sir," The captain spoke this word with the least respect, in an irritable manner, "Those plasma signatures, come from the shots of 200mm plasma cannons, and the explosions are large enough to of been, from a carrier's engine. You know commander, well you should know that no ship uses, 200mm's for target practice."

"I see then, if this matter is so urgent, then I will leave the matter in your hands, feel free to contact the Mechanicus Adeptus for extra ships, and the spaceport, for extra troops. Otherwise don't bother me again, for the time being." Spoke the commander hoarsely.

"Shhhhhhh... beep." The screen interface, turned a void-black, then turned off.


	3. Hidden Agenda

**Author's Note: **After an extremely loooong time, (excuse the spelling, in exchange for emphasis) I've decided to add the third chapter i made for this story, well over 3 years ago. If i can considering the increasing and crazy work-load handed out by my just mildly insane teachers, i've resolved to continue this story, and write additional chapters. 

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 3: Hidden Agenda**

A dark, cloaked figure moved from the streets of Victor XXVII's lower hive quarters. It's shrill, and quick movements, seemed to carry a presence, but no physical weight, for they left no marks in the forlorn snow. Hurriedly as the figure passed two men in the greenish-gray garb of the Victor 363rd heavy infantry division, they followed suit after the figure, their newly received laspistols, withdrawing from within their thick fur coats. The figure continued it's vivacious run, while it's small head looked back at those following it. It's assailants noticing it's curious stare, aimed their laspistols, and let lasbolts, streak through the streets, towards the jaunty figure. Turning back the figure jumped up and fell colliding with one of the men, while the other fell a split second, before, the first's neck broke.

"crunch."The second's neck soon followed suit in the same manner as the first's.

Slowly the shadow-like figure rubbed it's hand on the great fur coat of the first man, then picked up the polished pistols of both dead men. Fingering the nice waxy polish of one gun, the figure put the other within it's cloak.. It soon left the seen, both pistols put away in some mysterious spot.

* * *

"Beep! Beeep! Beep! Beeep!" The exterior scanners of the cruiser searched the encompassing space that surrounded it's seemingly small hull. 

"Have you found anything yet, boys!?!?!"Shouted Lt. Maxis Filander, across the cold steel deck.

"No!" replied a dozen trained voices.

The trained crew of the _Emperors Compass_, searched and scanned the area, where the _Bartholomew's Hand_, had mysteriously disappeared. Still nothing had been found after hour upon hour of continued search, by over 200 souls.

"Shit!"Murmured the Lt.

He was losing hope, and what little he had started out with was slowly fading away, like the past. Over 2 days ago this tiring, and grueling search through the quadrant known as 2536, where the _Bartholomew's Hand_, had last been detected, was hopeless. For all he knew, Lt. Maxis Filander might be doing this for the rest of his god-forsaken life.

_Damn, _thought the Lt.,_ I never should've messed up on that riot mission. If not for that I would've gotten that god-damn promotion already. Looks like I'm doomed to this hell for awhile._

"Well keep looking!"

"Sir." Came the reply.

Suddenly, the Maxis, turned to his right, his mighty voice awakening a near by half-asleep 2nd class officer.

"Sergeant major Mills, I leave the bridge to you till' 2400 hours."

"Aye. Aye commander."

With that the stoic form of the Lt., left the bridge, his steps pounding against the interior hull.

* * *

Within his dull steel quarters, Lt. Filander withdrew to a room hidden deep behind mounds upon mounds, of storage crates. In front him, a large vid screen, and 2 side key panels lay, built in to the metal wall. His hands moving down one numbered keypad quickly pushed in the coordinates for one well protected vid channel. 

A patch in the wall suddenly opened up revealing a scanning pad. With that the Lt., pressed his hand neatly against the bright, blue grid, for a short while before the scanner uttered a loud humming sound. Finished, the Lt., hurriedly circled around checking around for any ignored suspicious items, or beings. Turning back, he stared into the recently vibrating screen, his eyes concentrating on the new face that suddenly appeared on it.

"Ahhh... commander I did not expect to see your face so soon. So have you taken me up on your offer? Or have you come to beg for me not to erase the planet Victor XXVII from the very edge of humanity's fringe? Eh?"

"Colonel, when I contact you do not take it lightly. What you may do, even try, is of trivial concern to my mind.

"Then what is it you wish to know Lt.? Eh? Is it you have grown bored of this world and wish me to transfer you, to a more entertaining world, like the "whore house" of a world, such as Bargaras IX? Or do you just come for a pitiful talk from an intellectual mind of superior power?"

"Do not mess around with me Batel. You well know what I contacted you for."

"And what is that may I ask?"

"What have you done with the _Bartholomew's Hand,_ and it's crew? Where is Commissar Brengar? What are his conditions, and those of his crew? Damn it! Answer me!"

"No need to get so uptight Maxis. After all over a dead crew for one thing."

"Dead!?! Have you no pity executing a crew of over 2000 strong!?! Why have you done such an atrocity to an Imperial ship and it's crew, after all even you still serve the crumbling Imperium?"

"For the first question, my answer is: Yes they are dead. The second: actually I have quite a lot of pity, I believe definitely more than one with such a meager intellect like you. And the third and final: Brengar, your close friend, and his sniveling crew of ingrates, drifted into my sector, where, as I told you before, the H.G., is almost done with it's long-awaited completion."

"How dare you shoot them down, over an old pile of junk. You might as well shoot my ship down too, at that, you yellow bastard."

"Normally Maxis, I would, but then again, don't you remember our friendship so long ago, on Garax Prime. So otherwise that is the only thing that keeps your rotting corpse alive, and it's crew of fools.

"Urgh..." The Lt., grunted as his hand moved to turn the vid channel off.

"Oh, by the way Lt., as we speak, your fellow conspirators against my wonderful self, are being eliminated."

Maxis' face suddenly turned deathly white.

"That's right," continued the all to overjoyed colonel, "Sergeant Major Theodore, Lt. Colonel Geving, Major Owari, and the rest of those shit-brained arses are dead, may I say. So may I say one more thing as to that; Lt., how's the family?"


End file.
